As long as he walked like a gentleman, bound by the rigid strictures of London society, he could contain it. But here in this ancient keep with the wind whipping through his hair and the scent of the river in his nostrils, it threatened to consume him.
He tensed as Caroline Cabot appeared in the window of the tower, her piquant face illuminated by the flame of a single candle. Her hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders. She had donned the dressing gown he had left for her. The velvet hugged her slender curves, betraying the softness she fought so hard to hide beneath her prickly exterior.
Adrian sighed. It seemed there was to be no escaping her. Not among the throngs at Vauxhall and not here, in the only retreat left to him. Not even in his dreams, which she had haunted ever since he tasted her kiss.
Make love to me, she had whispered only last night as he thrashed restlessly in his tangled sheets. Her voice was no longer frantic with desperation, but languid with desire. She had gazed up at him, her gray eyes misty with longing. Her hands had tenderly stroked his face while the silky petals of her lips parted to invite him inside.
Adrian swore, cursing himself and his traitorous imagination. His life would be so much simpler if it was Vivienne who haunted his dreams. Vivienne who stood at that window and gazed wistfully into the night as if she was searching for something. For someone.
For him.
Cupping one hand around the candle’s flame, Caroline turned away from the window, taking the light with her.
Adrian had always prided himself on his control, but there were some appetites that were simply too powerful to be denied. Wrapping the horse’s reins around his fist, he strode toward the castle, rejecting the sheltering arms of the darkness.
Caroline opened her eyes, slipping from sleep to wakefulness with barely a shift in breathing. For a few disoriented seconds she believed she was back in Aunt Marietta’s attic with Portia snoring in the other bed. But it wasn’t so much a noise that had awakened her as the absence of it. The rain had stopped, its cessation magnifying the silence to deafening proportions.
She sat up, feeling dwarfed by the extravagant four-poster. The chamber had been so warm and cozy when she crawled into the bed that she hadn’t bothered to draw the bed curtains. But now the fire was waning on the hearth and a faint chill clung to the air.
She reached for the bed curtains, but her hand froze in midair. One of the French doors on the opposite side of the tower was cracked open, inviting in a creeping tendril of moonlight and mist.
She drew back her hand, her fingers beginning to tremble. Her nervous gaze searched the chamber. All of the candles had guttered out, leaving the tower draped in shadows.
The ghost of a sound jerked her attention back to the balcony. Was it just the wind? she wondered. Or a furtive footfall? But how could it be a footfall when she was at least five stories above the ground?
She licked her parched lips, surprised she could hear anything at all over the frantic thudding of her heart. She wanted nothing more than to jerk the blankets over her head and cower beneath them until morning.
But she’d lost the luxury of cowering on the night her parents had died. Portia and Vivienne might be able to hide beneath the covers when trouble loomed, but she was the one who always had to creep out of her warm bed on stormy nights to fasten a loose shutter or add another log to the fire.
Mustering her courage, she tossed back the blankets, slid her feet to the floor, and crept across the flagstones toward the spreading pool of moonlight. She was halfway to the door when a shadow flickered across the balcony. She recoiled, a gasp of fright lodged in her throat.
“Stop being such a silly goose,” she scolded herself aloud through chattering teeth. “It was probably just a cloud passing across the moon.” She took another reluctant step toward the door. “You simply forgot to bolt the door and the wind blew it open.”
Trying not to imagine one of the gargoyles from the ramparts unfurling its stone wings and diving straight for her throat, she took a deep breath and crossed the rest of the floor in three determined strides. She flung both doors open wide and marched right out onto the balcony, all but daring some unseen monster to spring out at her from the darkness.
The balcony was deserted.
A veil of mist rose from the damp stone, its gossamer threads burnished to silver by the glow of the moon. Caroline crossed to the parapet that sheltered the balcony, using its rough stone to steady her shaking hands. Torn between relief and chagrin at her own foolishness, she peered over the wall, gauging the impossible distance to the ground. If anyone wanted to accost her here, they would surely require wings to fly.
“Good evening, Miss Cabot.”
As that mocking voice came out of the shadows behind her, borne on a cloud of brimstone, Caroline whirled around and let out a terrified shriek.
Chapter Ten
Caroline stumbled backward. As the rough stone of the parapet bit into her back, the sky took a careening dive and threatened to swap places with the ground. Suddenly Kane’s arms were there, encircling her, roughly at first, then gentling as he gathered her quaking body against his chest.
One of his big hands smoothed her hair, pressing her cheek to the warm, broad haven of his chest. “Sweet Christ, woman,” he said hoarsely. “What are you trying to do? Frighten me to death?”
As the world slowly righted itself and her trembling subsided, Caroline wanted nothing more than to sink into his strength and his warmth. To believe that no harm could befall her as long as she was in his arms. To forget, even for one unsteady heartbeat, that such a foolish notion was the most seductive danger of all.
She shoved against his chest, extracting herself from his embrace with a desperation that surprised even her. “Frighten you? You’re the one who came pouncing at me out of the shadows! If I’d have tumbled to my death and poor Wilbury would have had to spend his morning scraping me off the cobblestones of your courtyard, it would have been no more than you deserved for sneaking up on me in such a distressing manner.” Her suspicions mounting, she began to back away from him. “Just how did you get up here anyway?”
He tracked her progress without moving a muscle, his eyes glittering with unmistakable amusement. “I walked.”
Caroline stopped, scowling in bewilderment. She followed the sweeping path of his hand, realizing for the first time that the structure she’d mistaken for a private balcony in the poor light was actually a walkway that ringed the entire tower. There was probably a bridge or staircase on the opposite side leading to another tower or a lower floor.
Kane folded his arms over his chest before gently asking, “Just how did you think I got up here, Miss Cabot?”
Caroline swallowed. “Well, I…” She wasn’t sure what she had thought. After all, it wasn’t as if he could have turned himself into a bat and flown up to her balcony just so he could slip into her bedchamber, cover her helpless form with his shadow, and…
As she envisioned him looming over her in the darkness of her bed, another image popped into her head, one even more disturbing—and far more provocative. She blinked frantically, trying to will it away. “Um, I—I…well, I assumed that perhaps…um…”
He took pity on her stammering ineloquence. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you’d be long abed. I’m afraid I haven’t yet grown accustomed to your country hours. I couldn’t sleep, so I came outside for a stroll and a smoke.”
For the first time, Caroline noticed the slender cheroot still smoldering on the stones. He must have dropped it when he moved to snatch her back from the brink of disaster. Now she understood why she had smelled that whiff of brimstone just before he appeared.
As she became aware of the cheroot, she became aware of other things as well. Such as the rather scandalous absence of Kane’s coat, waistcoat, and cravat. His thin lawn shirt was tucked into a pair of doeskin riding breeches that hugged his lean hips and accentuated every muscle of his sculpted thighs. The shirt hung open at the throat, reveal
ing a gilded slice of muscle and a generous scattering of crisp, honey-colored hairs. Although he had gathered his hair into a careless queue at the nape of his neck, a few rain-dampened strands still hung around his face.
His appearance only served to remind her of her own disgraceful state. She hadn’t even bothered to slip on the dressing gown he’d so generously provided. She stood before him in her faded nightdress and bare feet, with her hair streaming down her back like a schoolgirl’s. The worn bodice of her nightdress clung to the swell of her breasts.
She awkwardly folded her arms over them, thankful for the first time in her life that she wasn’t as well-endowed as Portia. “I hope my scream didn’t wake the entire household.”
“The servants probably slept right through it,” Kane assured her, his heavy-lidded gaze flicking not to her chest, but to the graceful curve of her throat. “After all, they should be accustomed to such noises around here—bloodcurdling screams, pleas for mercy, the tortured cries of the innocent.”
He was doing it again. Mocking them both with nothing more than the devilish arch of one tawny eyebrow.
Caroline countered with a cool smile. “That doesn’t surprise me. I had assumed such a fine estate must possess a working dungeon.”
“Most certainly. That’s where I keep all of those missing village virgins. Perhaps we can arrange a tour before your visit is over.”
“That would be lovely.”
He leaned against the parapet. “I’m afraid I’ve been sadly remiss as a host. I do hope you’ll forgive me for not being here to greet you and your sisters when you arrived.”
“Wilbury informed us that you were out.” Her gaze strayed to his chest, where his damp shirt clung to the impressive expanse of muscle and sinew. The sight made her feel curiously light-headed. She touched a hand to her brow. Perhaps she was still dizzy from her near tumble off the balcony. “It must have been an urgent errand indeed to require your attention on such a frightful night.”
“On the contrary, I found the storm to be far less frightful than being cooped up in some overcrowded ballroom or smoky theater. I’d much rather battle the elements than the wagging tongues of the society gossips. But I am sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”
Perfectly aware that he had neatly dodged her unspoken question, she gestured toward the French doors, which still stood agape, offering them both a moonlit view of her rumpled sheets. “I can hardly accuse you of being remiss in your hospitality when you’ve provided me with such extravagant accommodations.”
He snorted, his jaw tightening. “More extravagant than the ones your aunt provided, no doubt. I’m surprised she didn’t house you in the coal cellar.”
Caroline frowned. “How did you…?” But then she remembered him standing on her aunt’s stoop in the rain, lifting his gaze to that dusty dormer window. She must have ducked behind the curtains a second too late.
Inexplicably embarrassed that he knew exactly how little regard her aunt had for her, she lifted her chin. “As your guest of honor, Vivienne should have been given her own room. Portia and I are quite accustomed to sharing.”
“I thought you would approve of the arrangement. After all, I can hardly be accused of trying to sneak into your sister’s bedchamber and compromise her virtue with Portia standing guard, can I?”
But who will guard my virtue?
Caroline didn’t dare ask him that question. Not when she had insisted she was past the age where she believed every man she met was plotting to seduce or ravish her. Even one who appeared outside the open door of her bedchamber in the dead of night, half dressed and smelling of wind and rain and an intoxicating blend of tobacco and bay rum.
“I fear that Portia’s more of a terrier than a mastiff,” she said.
He gave a mock shudder. “Then I consider her an even more formidable foe. I’d much rather be savaged by a mastiff than have a yapping terrier nipping at my boots.”
Caroline smiled in spite of herself at his apt description of her little sister. “I usually find whacking her on the nose with the Morning Post to be quite effective.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He cocked his head to the side, giving her one of those penetrating looks she was coming to both covet and dread. “So tell me, Miss Cabot, what do you think of my humble home? Is it to your liking?”
She hesitated. “Your guest chambers are lovely, my lord, but I have to admit that I did find the entrance hall to be a bit…intimidating. There were a few too many animal carcasses and gory battle scenes for my taste.”
“I suppose it lacks the warmth that only a woman’s touch can provide,” he replied, his husky voice caressing the words.
“Ah, but that’s a lack that can be easily rectified, is it not?”
For just an instant, as their gazes met and held, Caroline got the startling impression that neither one of them was talking about Vivienne.
The sensation was so disconcerting that she began to back toward her bedchamber. She almost expected him to follow, matching her step for step as he had on that moonlit path at Vauxhall. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I really should be getting back to bed. Dawn will be here before we know it.”
“Yes, it will, won’t it?” Instead of following her, Kane turned to brace his hands on the parapet, his gaze straying to the far horizon, where the occasional flash of lightning still split the roiling underbellies of the clouds. “Miss Cabot?”
She paused, her hand already reaching for the door handle behind her. “Yes?”
He spoke without turning to look at her, his gaze still riveted by the night. “From now on, you might want to bolt those doors. You can’t always depend on an element as capricious as the wind to exercise its best judgment.”
Caroline swallowed before saying softly, “As you wish, my lord.”
Backing into the chamber, she gently drew the doors shut after her. She hesitated for the briefest moment, then reached down and shot the iron bolt into its mooring. When she lifted her eyes, Kane was gone. The balcony was empty.
She was alone.
“Oh, my stars! Who died and made you Queen of England?”
Caroline couldn’t have said what was more horrifying. Waking up the next morning to Portia’s exuberant squeal or having her bed curtains ripped open to invite in a blaze of sunshine. As the searing rays struck her face, she threw a hand over her eyes, feeling as if she might actually burst into flames.
Long after Adrian Kane had vanished from her balcony, she had tossed and turned in the tangled bedsheets, wondering if it had been the wind—or some element even more primal and dangerous—that had eased open her door. Wondering why her every encounter with Kane had to either begin or end with her in his arms. And wondering what sort of wicked creature could find being in his arms so alarmingly agreeable when she had no right to be there.
As Portia bounced up on the feather mattress like some sort of high-spirited puppy, Caroline groaned and tugged the damask-covered quilt over her head. “Go away! I refuse to believe it could already be morning.”
“Morning?” Portia echoed. “Why, it’s nearly noon! Just because you’ve been housed in the queen’s tower, it doesn’t mean you get to languish in bed all day like royalty. If you’re expecting me to play lady-in-waiting and ring for a maid to fetch you your chocolate in bed, you’ve got another think coming, Your Highness!”
“Noon?” Caroline sat up and threw back the quilt, accidentally tossing it over Portia’s head. “How on earth can it be noon already? I would have sworn it was barely dawn.”
Doubly horrified by this fresh evidence of her moral decay, Caroline scrambled out of the bed. She only had one week before the ball to determine if Kane was friend or foe and she’d already squandered half a day.
Batting aside the quilt, Portia flopped back into the warm hollow Caroline had vacated with a rapturous sigh. “I suppose I can’t blame you for being such a lazyboots. If I had such a splendid room, I’d never want to leave my bed.”
As Caroli
ne unlatched her trunk and tossed open the lid, she tried not to think of other, even more compelling, reasons not to leave a bed.
Portia rolled to her feet and began to meander around the room, examining its many treasures. “Now, I know why Vivienne insists that the viscount is so generous. So tell me—just what did you do to deserve such bounty?”
“Nothing!” Caroline blurted out, burying her head in the trunk to hide a traitorous blush. “Nothing at all!”
She pawed through several well-worn chemises and petticoats before finally locating a plain morning gown of cambric muslin with long sleeves and a high collar.
To spare her from ringing for the maid, Portia came over to lace her into her corset. Lifting her hair out of harm’s way, Caroline asked, “So where is Vivienne this morning?”
Portia rolled her eyes. “Probably curled up in some corner, stitching a Bible verse onto a sampler. You know it doesn’t take much to amuse her.”
“We should all be so blessed.” Still determined to salvage the last few minutes of the morning, Caroline hurried to the wash basin to splash water on her face and scrub her teeth with a cloth and some mint-flavored powder.
“I don’t know why you’re in such a rush,” Portia said. “According to that dour butler, Julian won’t be arriving until tonight. And you know Lord Trevelyan won’t be able to make an appearance until well after sunset.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to stop nursing that ridiculous fancy of yours?” Sinking down on the upholstered bench of the baize-covered vanity, Caroline lifted its hinged lid and began to search for the paper of hair pins the maid had unpacked the night before. Gathering the sleek fall of her hair at her nape, she said, “I don’t believe Lord Trevelyan is a vampire any more than I believed you when you decided you were Prinny’s illegitimate daughter and rightful heir to the throne of…” She trailed off, gazing fixedly into the interior of the vanity.
“What is it?” Portia asked, drifting closer. “You really don’t look all that frightful. If you like, I can fetch my rabbit’s foot and dab a little rice powder on those circles beneath your eyes.”
After Midnight Page 10
